


Shock You Like You Won't Believe

by foxxcub



Category: Sherlock Holmes (2009) RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-19
Updated: 2011-04-19
Packaged: 2017-10-18 09:44:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/187573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxxcub/pseuds/foxxcub
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He can't remember the last time he went out for fun. Not that being out at a high-profile gala with his stupidly hot boss is <i>fun</i>, but it's certainly not work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shock You Like You Won't Believe

**Author's Note:**

> This exists mostly because of [this comment](http://foxxcub.livejournal.com/643314.html?thread=19301362#t19301362) from sparky77, and, well. What came about was an AU where Jude is the lowly assistant to ~~Tony Stark~~ corporate mogul!RDJ. Totally self-indulgent and utterly _ridiculous_ , okay, seriously. Also, I'm not totally sure they make stretch Range Rovers? But just go with it.
> 
> Thanks a whole bunch to fitofpique for betaing and convincing me that there's always time to add porn. Title lyrics stolen from MGMT.

Jude is not one for clichés. He's always hated using folksy, antiquated terms when it comes to describing a really shitty day. But honestly, "when it rains, it pours" has never been more appropriate than today.

It's like Friday the 13th and April Fool's all rolled into one: a fire broke out in the conference room, taking out all the electrical equipment and ruining the leather chairs that cost more than his monthly salary, which would be unfortunate and inconvenient on any given day, but today the Tokyo investors are in town to give a presentation on global expansion in Asia. Then his iPhone went missing for a whole three hours, right when the network servers went down for, as IT said in their all-too-brief email, "an unexpected reboot." And all of this happened after he realized Bruce Wayne's coffee was decaf instead of his usual double shot with hazelnut.

Thank god Bruce Wayne, aka Mr. Downey, aka his ridiculous billionaire of a boss, hasn't actually been _in_ his office to drink said coffee. Jude had waited until noon, then drank it himself. Cold. He'd pretended it was iced.

The fire department finally clears out and Jude reschedules the investors meeting for tomorrow morning and unearths his iPhone. He expects to find at least ten texts from Downey, ranging from trivia questions to random quotes to requests for the address of the nearest sushi location, but there's only one.

 _a) do you own a tux & b) are you free tomorrow night??_

Jude collapses into his desk chair, blinking at his phone. Downey never questions his time off, or what he does outside of work, but not because he values Jude's privacy—he just _doesn't care_. Corporate moguls with Fortune 500 companies don't give a shit if their lowly assistant likes supporting the local Shakespeare company, or watching zombie movies late at night. Jude took it personally for the first couple of months, but he quickly wised up.

He's not, however, expecting to be asked for an inventory of his wardrobe. There's a tux in the back of his closet from when he attended an exhibit opening with an old girlfriend who worked for the art museum, but he hasn't worn it in years.

Regardless, he texts back, _a) yes, b) I suppose?_ He kind of regrets the question mark, but admitting he doesn't have much of a social schedule to man who's dated half the US Olympic beach volleyball team—women's _and_ men's—is more than a little humiliating.

However, he gets a reply within less than minute.

 _spectacular, now rsvp yourself as my +1 for the b &wb and tell chris to pick you up at 7_

Three things go through Jude's mind:

1) _b &wb_ stands for The Black & White Ball, which is a charity function held every year at the mayor's home. Only the most elite of the city get invited, and it's considered the biggest event of the year.

2) Chris is Downey's driver, since Downey owns six cars and never drives any of them.

3) He's just been asked out on a date by his boss.

Jude drops his phone and quietly has a panic attack. He almost wishes the conference room would catch on fire again, just for the distraction.

//

Of course, Downey doesn't show his face until the next morning, just in time for the investors' meeting. He beams at Jude as he flits past his desk, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Jude's had all of three hours of sleep and it pretty much shows on his face.

"Tonight!" Downey says, giving Jude a thumbs up. "It's going to be awesome, promise, I hear this year they got Lady Gaga to perform. _Lady fucking Gaga_ , okay, that's insane, I'd be happy with, like, Adam Lambert, y'know? God, that reminds me, the DVR's set for Idol tonight, right? Why are these things always on a weekday, seriously—okay! I'm in this Tokyo Fun Times meeting all day, so no calls, unless you want to play Scrabble with me later? Did you even download that app like I told you to?" All of this is said as he walks backwards down the hall to the conference room, still wearing his sunglasses. He doesn't even look like he shaved.

Jude feels a migraine coming on. "You never told me to get Scrabble," he calls after him, because everything else is probably already a moot point in Downey's brain.

"I did! App store! I can't be excited about my high score unless I have someone to _challenge_ me, okay? People on the internet don't count." He holds up his phone, giving Jude a disturbingly cute sad puppy face. "C'mon, for me?"

He's not going to spend the day playing Scrabble while his boss pretends to listen to a bunch of Japanese businessmen talk stock options in broken English. There are fifty million other things that need his attention, namely getting his fucking tux to the cleaners.

And yet Jude sighs, takes out his phone, and starts to download the app. He glances up to see Downey disappear into the conference, winking at him over the top of his sunglasses.

//

Jude wins two games straight. He still manages to get some work done; emails answered, flights booked, lunch dates entered into Downey's Outlook calendar (that he never looks at, ever). And while he's at it, he checks Downey's DVR.

They're in the middle of their third game when he gets a text saying, _i want my black chucks for tonight, are they clean?_ Signs usually point to no, though God knows how the man can ruin a pair of Converse in one night. Regardless, Jude finds himself making an impromptu trip to the Foot Locker down the street; they know his face there, and exactly what size he buys.

For all of three seconds, he considers buying a second, matching pair for himself. Then he regains his sanity and laughs.

 _Shoes acquired_ , he texts on his way back to the office. It's a coincidence that he happens to beat Downey for a third time with a triple word score before he's even on the elevator. Maybe he should've considered losing a round, but he's kind of ridiculously proud of himself.

 _you are my hero, my lovely verbose assistant_ , comes the reply as he steps off onto his floor. _best three out of five?_

Jude rolls his eyes, hoping the Japanese are fairly oblivious.

//

He's ready by six o'clock. Not that he'd admit it out loud to anyone, but Jude spends the next hour pacing in front of the mirror, squaring his shoulders and practicing his best "yes, I _am_ here with this man who's richer than God, why do you ask?" face. Of course, he knows it's not a _date_ date—Downey just got lazy and forgot to book someone. Or rather, forgot to have Jude call whichever hotshot of the social elite he's into at the moment and pencil them in. It's not that Jude cares, by any means, it's just...it's strange to think of him being at Downey's side without his iPhone poised and ready to take notes.

He doesn't look half bad, if he's being honest with himself. He looks decent enough to be the date of a corporate bigwig; his tux is only a few years old, and he'd forgotten the shirt and tie were a dark silver instead of traditional black, something he'd picked out on a whim. His ex had told him he'd looked "dapper" and "James Bond-ish," and she'd had excellent taste.

He just hopes Downey doesn't act like he's completely invisible tonight. Or at least acknowledges that he's—no, it doesn't matter. Jude sighs and smirks ruefully at his reflection. He knows he's starved for attention when he's suddenly desperate for his boss to notice him. What he needs is some time off to relax and maybe start dating again. Or maybe he just needs to get laid.

Before he even realizes, it's seven o'clock on the nose, and he hears a familiar honking outside his apartment building. Jude's not all that surprised that Downey decided to bring the stretch Range Rover.

He only blushes a little at the stares from people passing on the street as he climbs inside, but then there's Downey sprawled across the leather bench seat, dressed in a black suit, an electric blue tie with the knot loosened, and his Chucks. He still hasn't shaved, and there's a glass of champagne in his hand.

Jude settles himself primly in his seat and tries really hard not to fidget.

Downey grins at him. "I knew you'd look gorgeous," he says, like he's proud of himself. "Silver brings out your eyes."

"Um." He blinks, waiting for the other shoe to drop. "Thanks?"

"Yeah, that bewildered look is cute and all, but you're not fooling anyone. You know you're hot, don't even front. Champagne?"

It's incredibly disconcerting to be blushing in front of his boss, especially when it's from a compliment. He takes the glass Downey offers him and downs it in one go. "Thank you," he says again, and he means it, he does. He just feels completely out of his element.

"Tell me again why you're working for me instead of living off a modeling contract?"

There isn't any reason for Downey to know that bit of history, but Jude has worked for him for nearly two years now and it's not like ten minutes on Google doesn't pull up his old portfolio.

He looks down at his empty champagne glass. "It's not very fulfilling, I guess. And it's exhausting spending each and every day being judged."

"Mmm." Jude glances up to find Downey leaning forward, arms braced on his knees. "Yeah, I guess that's enough of a reason for me. Their loss is my gain, after all." The smile he gives Jude is different this time, more...careful. And possibly affectionate, if Jude is being totally delirious. He has absolutely no idea what to do with that look, or how to respond, so he does the only other thing he can think of.

"Is there more?" he asks, holding up his glass, which Downey refills with a smirk.

//

The ball is a spectacle in the most elegant sense—like the Oscars and a rave morphed into one event. Everyone is dressed to the nines and mingling around giant ice sculptures of chess pieces while loud techno music pounds through mounted speakers. He spots more than a few local celebrities, but everyone pauses the moment Downey walks in.

It's nothing new. Jude's seen him mobbed enough that it's not a surprise anymore; after all, how often does a business guy make the front cover of _Entertainment Weekly_? His boss is charming, charismatic, and a little on the eccentric side, which is perfect for the side of Hollywood obsessed with everything not related to acting. Downey doesn't need to act, Jude thinks, as the mayor shakes Downey's hand and they both pause for a photo op.

Slowly, Jude slips toward the back of the crowd and lets Downey bask in the adoration of others. Any other time he'd be diligently taking notes, but tonight isn't about work. He's got two glasses of champagne floating inside him, and there are no expectations on him. He can't remember the last time he went out for fun. Not that being out at a high-profile gala with his stupidly hot boss is _fun_ , but it's certainly not work.

Jude winces belatedly as his brain replays _stupidly hot boss_. Right, so his tolerance has pretty much evaporated in the last several months. He probably should've eaten before leaving the house.

The solution, naturally, is to head to the bar.

//

Maybe it's a sad statement on his life that he's relating more to the bartender than anyone else in the room. Maybe he's had one too many shots of bourbon. Maybe he's really, _really_ starved for attention after spending far longer than he cares to admit in a dry spell since breaking up with the art museum ex. Whatever it is, he's enjoying sitting here on his uncomfortable stool, leaning against the fake wood of the bar and talking rugby scores with Casey the bartender. He's probably a little too young for Jude, but he's got an Irish accent and laughs at everything Jude says and has really lovely hands.

Jude wonders fleetingly if he could go home with him. He wonders if Downey would even notice.

But then he feels slightly chapped lips against his ear and a familiar voice asks, "When did I say you could wander off?" Downey doesn't sound angry at all; if anything, he sounds amused.

Jude has enough alcohol in his system to help him ignore his instantaneous blush ( _that's not a kiss, why would you even_ think _that's a kiss?_ ) as he turns around to meet Downey's eyes. "You were otherwise engaged, _sir_ ," he replies smoothly, and there's a rough tone to his voice he knows shouldn't be there.

Downey seems to know it, too, because his eyes flare for a second, and then he grins wolfishly at him. "Well, I'll be damned. You're drunk," he drawls. "Never thought I'd see the day."

"You're fucking right I'm drunk! If I'm going be forced to be your date, I'll damn well enjoy myself."

"Are you saying I have to force you into being my date?" Jude realizes he must be really drunk, because he swears Downey looks vaguely hurt.

"No," he huffs, patting his hand down Downey's crooked tie. "I was being hyperbolical. I am drunk, after all, you can't expect me to make sense."

"I see. But you made enough sense to flirt with Lucky Charms over there."

Jude glares and pokes at Downey's chest. "Hey, I'm allowed to flirt! I watch you do it every day."

"I have no idea what you're talking about and, if I did, I'd say you've been reading too much into things."

"What about that accountant they sent over to you a few weeks ago? The one who looked like Heidi Klum?" He uses his best Downey voice, pitched low and smooth, and lowers his eyes as he presses forward and murmurs in Downey's ear, "You were in your office for _hours_."

He hears a soft intake of breath, and then Downey laughs. "First off, she was helping with my _taxes_ , and second, I'm not even all that attracted to Heidi Klum, so." Downey pauses, and it hits Jude that he hasn't pulled back from where his mouth is nuzzling against Downey's temple. And yet, he kind of likes where he is, tucked up in Downey's space for once.

"You know, I like having your complete and undivided attention for a change," Jude thinks, not realizing until it's too late that he's said the words out loud.

He waits for Downey to laugh again and make some joke but, strangely, he turns his head just enough for Jude's lips to lightly skim over his cheek. Techno music is still blaring all around them, and there are people everywhere, but he can't bring himself to care.

"You have my attention a lot, actually," Downey says in a soft voice, one that sounds kind of odd and breathless.

"I wouldn't program a goddamn DVR for American Idol for anyone but you," Jude says, and he means it in a totally matter-of-fact manner. Really.

"I know. I actually hadn't played anything but Bejeweled on my phone until today."

Jude frowns against Downey's cheek. "But..." Huh. That's...huh.

"I'd also like to point out that no less than a dozen people in this room have scoped out my assistant, and I find it a little disconcerting. God only knows where I'd be if they knew you were Jude Law, _GQ_ motherfucker."

There's something he's missing here, something in the way Downey isn't quite smiling at him, but isn't exactly _not_ smiling either. His hand comes up, fidgets a bit awkwardly with Jude's tie, and wait, _awkward_ is not a word he's used to describe Downey, ever.

Jude pulls back enough to squint at him. "What are you—"

"Robert, darling! There you are!" Some middle-aged blond bombshell materializes out of nowhere, and, even drunk as he is, Jude recognizes her as the wife of the city commissioner. Mrs. Gaffrey, although she likes to be called "Jules." She's a huge fan of Downey's, to say the least, and Downey humors her far too much.

But suddenly Downey's laughing softly as he leans in to kiss her cheek. "Hi, yes, sorry, I've, uh. Been a little occupied." His not-smile has become a very real smile, one that's aimed directly at Jude, like they're sharing an inside joke.

"You really must let me talk you into coming to the Hamptons with us next month," she purrs, her irritating hands skittering over Downey's arms. "You work too hard, darling, you need a vacation."

Jude snorts, loudly. Downey's smile gets wider. "I work just enough," he drawls, and somehow his own hand has ended up cupped around Jude's knee. He can't remember when it got there.

Mrs. Gaffrey looks at Jude as if she's only just now noticed his presence. "Oh, right. Your assistant, yes?" She sniffs at him and, for some reason he can't fathom, Jude presses close to Downey and nuzzles his ear. A tiny, tiny voice in the back of his head is screaming something about propriety, but he can't quite pay attention, not when he hears the quick, soft catch of Downey's breath.

He wants to make him do it again.

Downey, meanwhile, smirks at her and replies, "His name's Jude. Remember it next time." His voice is low and a little menacing, and that's all it takes for Mrs. Gaffrey to roll her eyes and flounce off.

Jude feels like he's won something. His heart's pounding fiercely in his chest and there's a heady rush of adrenaline pulsing through him. "Hateful woman," he mumbles against Downey's ear, his lips trailing just barely over his skin.

He's never considered what it would be like to make Downey shiver, but it's possibly the most amazing sensation ever. "Yeah, if I were about twenty years younger I'd be making cougar jokes right about now," he says, but the snark is lost on a quiet gasp. "Uh, I did mention you're drunk, right?"

"I remember something about that, yeah." Why has Jude never thought about this until now? Why has he never _wanted_ this, wanted _him_ , until now?

Downey's stubble scrapes rough-soft over Jude's cheek as he whispers, "I should take you home."

"You could, yes. Or I could—I could, maybe—" The words are there, right on his tongue— _I could go home with you_ —but he can't quite say them out loud. The tiny voice is nearly having a nervous breakdown.

Downey laughs again, and it's a quiet, intimate sound. "Seriously, do you even know how long I've waited to hear you say something like that to me? Do you? I'm not going to tell you, I do have some dignity left, but let's just say it's longer than a week." He cups a hand gently over Jude's cheek, his other hand still splayed over Jude's knee, and Jesus fucking Christ, could they just kiss already?

"I thought I was invisible," Jude hears himself say, and that makes Downey mimic the snort Jude made earlier.

"Of course, sure, because you totally blend in with your surroundings." He shakes his head, slowly pulling Jude off his stool. "C'mon, Casper, let's go before I have to pour you into a cup to get your ass out of here."

He lets Downey lead him out of the ballroom, because it's nice to have Downey's arm wrapped around his shoulders and his arm pressed against Downey's side. He far enough gone to admit he likes knowing people can see them like this and know Jude's not just a stand-in, not just the assistant tonight. Even if they haven't kissed yet.

Which...no. He can't go home yet until that's rectified.

The long circular drive in front of the mayor's home is lined with limos, but they're all dark and empty; he can see a group of drivers congregated a few yards off, having a smoke break. No one is around, as far as he can tell, and that's enough to give Jude the courage to push Downey into the shadows and up against a nearby magnolia tree that faces away from the house. Downey huffs with the impact of his back hitting the trunk, and then makes a strange grunting noise when Jude shoves his knee between his legs.

He doesn't close his eyes as he fists his hands into the lapels of Downey's tux and whispers roughly, "I don't want to be the one to kiss you first, okay? I don't want to have to be the one do everything, I want—I want you to kiss _me_ , goddamn it."

It's too dark to really make out Downey's expression clearly, but Jude can see his lips part, slick-shiny in the small shafts of moonlight. He's not touching Jude at all, but finally, _finally_ , he swallows and whispers back, "Say my name."

"What, Mr. Downey?"

"No, you crazy fucking man, my first name."

His brain's too fuzzy with bourbon and champagne to quite grasp what Downey wants but, he releases his hold on the tux jacket and slides his hands inside, over the smooth front of Downey's shirt.

"Robert," he breathes, and that seems to do the trick.

Downey shudders almost violently and gasps, "Fucking Christ, I could listen to you say that for _ever_ ," before he shoves his hand into Jude's hair and brings their mouths together in a messy, fantastic kiss. Jude can't remember ever being kissed like this, not by anyone, man or woman. It's far from elegant, and he can already feel his lips beginning to bruise from the sheer force of it, but he can't imagine stopping. He doesn't mean to start a rhythm, but the next thing he knows, Downey (Robert, _god_ ) is muffling his moans against Jude's jaw as their hips grind together, the distant sounds of crickets and chauffeurs laughing and techno music bleeding into the background.

Luckily (and it is insanely lucky, Jude will realize the next morning), Downey's still plenty sober enough for the both of them. Just as their motions start to reach a fever pitch and Jude is about ten seconds away from shoving his hands into Downey's pants, Downey jerks out of the kiss, gasping loudly as he puts both hands squarely on Jude's shoulders.

"I—I won't be able to live with myself if I let us come like a couple of hormone-ravaged teenagers behind the bleachers. Or, you know, come in our pants in front of the mayor's house. When I make you come, I want it to just be us, and I want you to remember every fucking second of it."

Downey's sort of sprawled against the tree with his hair in disarray, looking for all the world like he's been thoroughly debauched, and Jude can taste the champagne he had earlier, and hints of nicotine from the cigarette he smoked in the limo, but he makes himself listen to the words Downey's saying and not the angry whine of his body.

He's more than a little proud of himself, and for that reason alone he reluctantly peels himself off Downey's body. His erection is screamingly obvious, but Jude doesn't give a shit.

"So...you're still taking me home?" he asks carefully.

Downey gives him a lopsided smile, one Jude's never seen before. He wonders if it's the smile Downey saves for right after sex. "Yeah, I am, _GQ_ boy. For tonight." He cups Jude's cheek again, his thumb rubbing lazily over Jude's swollen lower lip.

He lets his eyes flutter closed for a second. "Am I fired?" he whispers, smiling back.

"We'll see. Luckily I know the dude who owns the company, so maybe we can work something out."

"I could sue for sexual harassment, you know." Against his better judgment, he nips at Downey's thumb.

A very, very small groan gets stuck in Downey's throat. "Yeah, no. You're the one who demanded I kiss you. That shit won't hold up in court. Besides, I halted the sex and am being a total gentleman, thank you very much."

Jude bites his skin a little harder, and Downey's groan grows a little louder. "Total gentleman," Jude repeats, smirking. He could maybe get used to this.

Downey's eyes widen and he clears his throat. "Totally," he whispers, his gaze tracking every movement of Jude's mouth.

"A gentleman is within his rights to kiss someone goodnight," Jude murmurs, turning the bites into gentle swipes of his lips up the line of Downey's palm, to the webbing between his thumb and index finger.

Downey growls something indecipherable, and a second later they're pawing each other once more, kissing each other breathless until Jude thinks he'll black out from lack of air.

It's another twenty minutes or so before Downey finally manages to drag Jude to the Range Rover. No one really pays much attention to them except Chris, who merely raises an eyebrow at Downey's mussed hair and Jude's loose bowtie.

Jude will never admit to passing out on the ride home. He remembers closing his eyes and draping himself lazily across Downey's chest when Downey opened the sunroof to smoke. The next thing Jude knows, he's waking up in his own bed with sunlight streaming in through his bedroom window. Much to his chagrin, he's naked save his boxers and his tux is hanging neatly on his closet door.

He groans as the first wave of a monster headache hit him, but then he spots the note on the bed beside him.

 _I'm calling in sick. You should, too,_ it reads. The handwriting is unmistakably Downey's.

He manages to smile weakly through the raging pain in his head. Jude blames the hangover as he rolls out of bed to go shower, immediately thinking of the chocolate chip pancakes Downey loves from the diner down the street from his office. If Jude calls ahead, he can grab some to go, along with some coffee for two.

It's what any good assistant would do, after all.

//

Of course, this would be the one time Downey decides to take it upon himself to go get coffee. Jude stands at the door to Downey's penthouse, holding a to-go box full of pancakes and juggling two coffee cups as he reads the Post-It stuck under the peep hole.

 _If you're here already, I made a Starbucks run. Back in ten._

Jude sighs and digs out his spare key. It's hardly the first time he's let himself into Downey's place; he's made laundry deliveries, Fed-Ex pick-ups, and performed numerous other duties without Downey being present. And that's in addition to the whole puppy debacle a year ago, when an airhead girlfriend bought a Bichon Frise and then proceeded to leave it with Downey when they broke up. Jude had fed and watered the damn dog for two weeks before convincing Downey to sell it. And not just because Downey had developed a horrific habit of calling the puppy _Judesie_.

But now everything feels completely different. Jude's never let himself in with the intention of well...he doesn't even know _what_ his intentions are, to be honest. He just knows he hasn't stopped thinking about the kissing from the night before, or the way he'd actually made Downey _whimper_ whenever he'd licked over a particularly sensitive spot on his jaw. Last night probably shouldn't have happened, all things considered, but it did, and now Jude is standing in Downey's mammoth kitchen with a stack of chocolate chip pancakes, wondering if he should possibly take his shirt off before Downey gets back.

Oh god. He's thinking about getting naked for his _boss_. What the actual fuck? His palms start to sweat, so he sets the food on the counter and goes straight for the TV room. Well, Downey calls it the TV room—it's more a NASA station, in Jude's opinion. He kicks his shoes off and stretches out on the leather sofa, reaching for one of nine remotes to turn the satellite on. He finds a _Project Runway_ marathon and lets himself bury his face in a throw pillow that smells a little too much like Downey's cologne. He knows Downey rarely sleeps in his own bed, but the thought of him curled up asleep on couch sort of makes Jude smile to himself. He's still hungover and exhausted from the previous night, which means it takes no time at all to fall into a dreamless sleep, careless of the fact that he should've put the pancakes in the stove or the microwave for later.

It's not a completely dreamless sleep. Eventually he starts to feel a slow heat building in his stomach, one that gradually spreads through the rest of his body. It's a fuzzy dream, but he can sense someone hovering above him, their hands braced against his shoulders as they skim their mouth down his jaw. Jude hums sleepily and arches lazily against the body, and he can hear soft laughter as lips continue trailing over his chin, his throat.

"It's kind of like you're an X-rated Goldilocks," a familiar voice whispers into the curve of Jude's neck, and suddenly he's awake and staring up at a very contented-looking Downey. If he were a cat, he would've been pumping his claws against Jude's chest.

He can't help the instant blush, or his automatic apology. "Sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"'Course you did, you've got Tim Gunn on and everything." Downey slowly splays his hands over Jude's stomach and pushes his shirt up to bare his skin. He glances up and gives Jude a bright, boyish grin, like he's waiting to be praised. "I got you a chai latte with extra cinnamon."

How did he—? "You've never seen me order that before," Jude mumbles as he tries to clear the sleep fog from his mind.

"You drink it everyday. I maybe snuck by your desk once or twice and read your cup."

"I brought those chocolate chip pancakes you like," he blurts without thinking, right as Downey sweeps his fingers up his sternum.

"Yeah, I saw. You didn't have to, y'know, I would've blown you regardless."

Jude's eyes go wide. "I didn't think—fuck, that's not why—"

Downey laughs and kisses him softly. "I'm just fucking with you. You're so easy sometimes." He traces a random pattern with his nails over Jude's skin, and Jude relaxes slightly.

"Thanks for the latte," he whispers against Downey's mouth.

"Thanks for coming over," Downey whispers back, and that's the moment Jude unconsciously rolls his hips up a little and...oh. Shit.

He holds his breath for a moment, until Downey leans back and smirks. But his eyes have gone very, very dark, and his voice goes low and breathless as he says, "You wanna pick up where we left off, I take it?"

"I...do you?"

"I'm three seconds away from tearing your pants off to get your dick in my mouth, so...yes?" He beams at Jude, and it shouldn't be hot in the least but it is. It _so_ is.

All the breath leaves his lungs in a loud _whoosh_. "The pancakes are probably cold by now," Jude murmurs senselessly. He's definitely not shifting against the couch to get Downey to move lower.

Good thing Downey is too perceptive for his own good. He slides carefully down Jude's body, glancing up at him through his lashes every so often as he parts the button fly of Jude's jeans.

"There's this miraculous thing called a microwave that I've got in my kitchen. I'll show it to you sometime." And then, in one fluid movement, Downey pulls his dick out through the slit of his boxers and licks the tip.

It's been a while since Jude's had this, which would explain why every nerve in his body shivers from just that one touch. Granted, it's a slick slide of Downey's tongue, not just _any_ touch, but still. He doesn't care what Downey says, he's not so fucking easy.

Until they skip right past any build-up and just go straight into his dick sliding all the way into Downey's mouth. _All the way_. And Jude's not prepared at all for the overwhelming wet heat surrounding him, making him want to flex his hips frantically, or just give up all together and come like he's fucking fifteen. He has more dignity than that, though, so he steels himself and tries not to think about fucking Downey's mouth or making him take it until his lips are bruised and his voice is fucked beyond all measure.

He tries not to think these things, but he fails miserably when he looks down his body and sees Downey's hands spread over his hips, callused fingertips digging into his skin as they hold him steady, his head bobbing carefully as he sucks Jude with excruciating slowness.

Jude grits his teeth, lets out an embarrassingly loud groan, and growls, "Stop fucking torturing me."

Downey hums innocently but immediately takes one hand from Jude's hip and slides his fingers through the slickness gathering on his belly. He forms a loose fist around the base of Jude's cock, barely exerting pressure, until Jude gives an involuntary thrust and moans again. Then, like Jude's loss of control was a signal, Downey tightens his hand, his rhythm instantly picking up speed.

He's good at this. Really good. Jude isn't surprised, only he is thirty seconds later when he comes so hard he feels like he'll fucking fall apart from the force of it.

 _Jesus._

"It's Robert, actually," Downey replies breathlessly when he finally pulls off, swipes the back of his hand over his mouth, and surges up Jude's body to give him a filthy rough kiss, one intended to let Jude taste himself in Downey's mouth. Jude opens his mouth wide, his body utterly boneless and wrecked. Downey is hard against his leg, and his arms are starting to shake.

"D'you want me to—"

"No, just—just give me a second, I..." And to Jude's amazement, Downey shoves his hand into his jeans and bites his lip. His arm jerks a few times, and then he shudders and gives a long, insanely gorgeous moan that that he tries and fails to stifle. Jude watches every second of it, barely breathing.

He waits for that awkward moment when both of them finally come back to themselves and look at each other, wondering what to do next. Jude waits for it, but it doesn't come. Instead, Downey opens his eyes and gives Jude a lazy smile, his cheeks flushed a bright pink.

"Tell me that wasn't worth cold pancakes," he drawls.

Jude blinks twice before he laughs. "Your jeans are ruined, and I never got to touch you." It feels good to laugh like this, in front of Downey. Like it's the most natural thing in the world.

"Fuck my jeans, and true, but." He leans down and brushes his mouth over Jude's. "I don't think I ever said this was a one-time deal, did I?"

Jude smiles, letting his teeth scrape over Downey's lower lip. "I don't think so, no."

"Then stop your whining and come eat breakfast with me." He pulls his hand out of his jeans, wincing in dismay at the mess on his fingers. "Okay, um. Shower first?"

Jude rolls his eyes, smirking as he lets Downey tug him off the couch and toward the master bathroom.


End file.
